


Echoes

by obstinatrix



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-10-23
Updated: 2009-10-23
Packaged: 2018-10-27 23:47:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10819287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/obstinatrix/pseuds/obstinatrix
Summary: Spock is dead, something's wrong with McCoy, and Kirk is being slowly torn apart.





	Echoes

**Author's Note:**

> I feel the need for a TOS!movieverse revival. I offer this small what-not to the recent joyous spate of red-uniform fic, since we all know that's the era where it all gets truly epic. :) This is for [](http://candesgirl.livejournal.com/profile)[candesgirl](http://candesgirl.livejournal.com/), who agrees.

**Title** : Echoes  
 **Pairing/Characters** : Kirk/Spock, McCoy  
 **Rating** : PG-13  
 **Disclaimer** : Characters all property of Paramount. Or somebody.  
 **Summary** : Spock is dead, something's wrong with McCoy, and Kirk is being slowly torn apart.  
 **Notes** : I feel the need for a TOS!movieverse revival. I offer this small what-not to the recent joyous spate of red-uniform fic, since we all know that's the era where it all gets truly epic. :) This is for [](http://candesgirl.livejournal.com/profile)[**candesgirl**](http://candesgirl.livejournal.com/), who agrees.

 

Spock carried his soul in his voice, heady and deep like an auburn winter wine. The dark trickle of it down the back of his neck, Kirk remembers; the way it warmed him through until he _glowed_. Spock's voice was amber; velvet; copper; jet; dark and elemental as his eyes. Kirk has heard it commanding, and cajoling; has heard it brittle with anger and dry with lust. And _God_ , that voice has done things to him, taken him apart and remade him spiced and breathless, shivered down his spine and left him tingling.

Spock's voice has never chilled his blood before.

His fingers close too tight on McCoy's arms, bruising pressure of strong hands on old bones. Everything about him, familiar, and unknown; the wrongness of it all cuts into Kirk like glass. He knows he must be hurting, but just in this moment, now, he _wants_ to hurt, as if he could shake this touch of the macabre right out of the doctor with sheer brute force. What right has he, to speak to Kirk in that voice, which once breathed _I love you_ s against his skin? Quietly, but human ears are more sensitive than Spock ever presumed. What right has McCoy, his blue eyes wide and staring, to tighten the screws on Kirk's heart until it bleeds?

The eyes are wide on his, like the eyes of the damned. The moment passes, and Kirk is suddenly limp. His fingers twitch, reflexively, and relax. The gravel-dark voice is a memory again, no more. Bones is a weight in his arms, then, abrupt and awkward, and the bone-china shape of him twists a thousand ways in Kirk's chest. "Oh, Bones," he breathes; because everything is wrong: the shape of him and the height, the vulnerability to his thinness: wrong for Spock, and that voice, and wrong even for McCoy. He was never so frail, Kirk thinks, before - _before_.

Spock carried his soul in that voice which just bled from dry lips; expended itself like an echo; like residual dirt. Bones is a shadow of himself, and the shadow of Spock rises under Kirk's hands. He cannot want this, not this man, the wrong man, in his arms; the mockery of that voice tumbling out of McCoy sets nausea ablaze in his stomach. His mind is a void, all but for the severed link screaming, a buzz like tinnitus that shrieks when he wanders too near. If Spock were here, he would soothe it, kiss it; lick at the wound like a cat till the pain disappeared. If Spock were here, surely - _surely_ \- then Kirk would know first.

There are, on a starship, no days or nights; no new mornings. McCoy's room is dark, but the darkness means nothing at all. Kirk holds his friend to him, because there is no-one else to hold. The stump of the link in his mind bleeds out his loneliness, his anger, and he thumbs it like a child with a loose tooth, because the pain, at least, is certain. _This is you, Spock. This is the place where I lost you._

He is almost glad that there will be no real mornings, without him.

* *


End file.
